Porcelain
ABBY DIDN’T STAY IN THE BATHROOM LONG. AS A MATTER of fact, she couldn’t leave the apartment fast enough. I tried not to let it throw me. Abby usually spazzed out whenever something serious came up.
The front door shut, and America’s car pulled out of the parking lot. Once again, the apartment seemed stuffy and too empty at the same time. I hated being there without her and wondered what I had done before we met.
I walked over to a small plastic bag from the pharmacy that I’d picked up a few days before. I’d uploaded some pics of me and Abby from my phone, and ordered some prints.
The white walls finally had some color. Just as the last picture was tacked in place, Shepley knocked on the door.
“Hey, man.”
“Yeah?”
“We’ve got shit to do.”
“I know.”
We drove to Brazil’s apartment, mostly in silence. When we arrived, Brazil opened the door, holding at least two dozen balloons. The long silver strings blew into his face, and he waved them away, spitting some away from his lips.
“I was wondering if you guys had canceled. Gruver is bringing the cake and liquor.”
We walked past him into the front room. Their walls didn’t look much different from mine, but their apartment had either come “fully furnished” or they got their couch from the Salvation Army.
Brazil continued, “I had some redshirts grab some food and Mikey’s kick-ass speakers. One of the Sigma Cappa girls has some lights we can borrow—don’t worry, I didn’t invite them. I said it was for a party next weekend. We should be set.”
“Good,” Shepley said. “America would shit a wildcat if she showed up and we were here with a bunch of sorority girls.”
Brazil smiled. “The only girls here will be a few of Abby’s classmates and girlfriends of the team. I think Abby’s going to love it.”
I smiled, watching Brazil spread the balloons across the ceiling, letting the strings hang down. “I think so, too. Shep?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t call Parker until the last minute. That way, we invited him, but if he makes it at all, at least he won’t be here the whole time.”
“Got it.”
Brazil took a breath. “Wanna help me move furniture, Trav?”
“Sure,” I said, following him into the next room. The dining room and kitchen were one room, and the walls were already lined with chairs. The counter had a row of clean shot glasses and an unopened bottle of Patrón.
Shepley stopped, staring at the bottle. “This isn’t for Abby, is it?”
Brazil smiled, his white teeth standing out against his dark olive skin. “Uh . . . yeah. It’s tradition. If the football team is throwing her a party, she’s getting the team treatment.
“You can’t make her drink that many shots,” Shepley said. “Travis. Tell him.”
Brazil held up his hand. “I’m not making her do anything. For every shot she drinks, she gets a twenty.
It’s our present to her.” His smile faded when he noticed Shepley’s frown.
“Your present is alcohol poisoning?”
I nodded once. “We’ll see if she wants to take a birthday shot for twenty bucks, Shep. No harm in that.”
We moved the dining table to the side, and then helped the redshirts bring in the food and speakers. One of the guys’ girlfriends started spraying air freshener around the apartment.
“Nikki! Knock that shit off!”
She put her hand on her hips. “If you guys didn’t smell so bad, I wouldn’t have to. Ten sweaty boys in one apartment starts stinking pretty quick! You don’t want her walking in here when it smells like a locker room, do you?”
“She’s right,” I said. “Speaking of that, I need to get back and shower. See you in half an hour.”
Shepley wiped his brow and nodded, pulling his cell phone from one jeans pocket, his keys from the other.
He tapped out a quick text to America. Within seconds, his phone beeped. He smiled. “I’ll be damned.
They’re right on schedule.”
“That’s a good sign.”
We rushed back to our apartment. Within fifteen minutes, I was showered, shaved, and dressed.
Shepley didn’t take much longer, but I kept checking my watch.
“Calm down,” Shepley said, buttoning up his green plaid shirt. “They’re still shopping.”
A loud engine pulled up out front, a car door slammed shut, and then footsteps climbed the iron steps outside our door.
I opened it, and smiled. “Good timing.”
Trenton smiled, holding a medium-size box with holes cut into the sides and a lid. “He’s been fed, watered, took his daily man crap. He should be good to go for a while.”
“You’re awesome, Trent. Thanks.” I looked past him to see my dad sitting behind the wheel of his pickup. He waved, and I waved back.
Trenton open the lid a bit and grinned. “Be good, little man. I’m sure we’ll see each other again.”
The puppy’s tail banged against the box while I replaced the top, and then took him inside.
“Aw, man. Why my room?” Shepley asked, whining.
“In case Pidge happens to go into mine before I’m ready.” I pulled out my cell and dialed Abby’s number. The phone buzzed once, and then again.
“Hello?”
“It’s dinnertime! Where the hell did you two run off to?”
“We indulged in a little pampering. You and Shep knew how to eat before we came along. I’m sure you can manage.”
“Well, no shit. We worry about you, ya know.”
“We’re fine,” she said, a smile in her voice.
America spoke somewhere close to Abby. “Tell him I’ll have you back in no time. I have to stop by Brazil’s to pick up some notes for Shep, and then we’ll be home.”
“Did you get that?” Abby asked.
“Yeah. See you then, Pidge.”
I hung up and quickly followed Shepley out to the Charger. I wasn’t sure why, but I was nervous.
“Did you call the douche bag?”
Shepley nodded, putting his car in gear. “While you were in the shower.”
“Is he coming?”
“Later. He wasn’t happy that it was late notice, but when I reminded him that it was necessary because of his big fucking mouth, he didn’t have much to say after that.”
I smiled. Parker had always rubbed me the wrong way. Not inviting him would make Abby unhappy, so I had to go against my better judgment and let Shepley give him a call.
“Don’t get drunk and punch him,” Shepley said.
“No promises. Park over there, where she won’t see,” I said, pointing to the side lot.
We jogged around the corner to Brazil’s apartment, and I knocked. It was quiet.
“It’s us! Open up.”
The door opened, and Chris Jenks stood in the doorway with a stupid grin on his face. He weaved back and forth, already drunk. He was the only person I liked less than Parker. No one could prove it, but Jenks was rumored to have slipped something in a girl’s drink once at a frat party. Most believed it, since that was the only way he could get laid. No one had come forward to say he had, so I just tried to keep an eye on him.
I shot a glare at Shepley, who raised his hands. He obviously wasn’t aware Jenks was going to be there either.
I glanced at my watch, and we waited in the dark with dozens of silver strings in our faces. Everyone was so close together, smashed into the living room waiting for Abby, that just one person’s movement made us all list one way or the other.
A few knocks at the door made us all freeze. I was expecting America to walk in, but nothing happened.
People were whispering while others were shushing them.
Another knock spurred Brazil into action, and he took several quick steps to the door, swinging it wide open, revealing America and Abby in the doorway.
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” we all yelled in unison.
Abby’s eyes grew wide, and then she smiled, quickly covering her mouth. America nudged her inside, and everyone gathered around.
As I made my way to Abby, the crowd split. She looked phenomenal, wearing a gray dress and yellow heels. The palms of my hands cupped each side of her smiling face, and I pressed my lips against her forehead.
“Happy birthday, Pigeon.”
“It’s not ’til tomorrow,” she said, smiling at everyone around us.
“Well, since you were tipped off, we had to make some last-minute changes to surprise you.
Surprised?”
“Very!”
Finch rushed up to wish her a happy birthday, and America elbowed her side. “Good thing I got you to run errands with me today or you would have shown up looking like ass!”
“You look great,” I said, making a show of looking her over. Great wasn’t the most poetic word I could have used, but I didn’t wanna overdo it.
Brazil came over to give Abby a bear hug. “And I hope you know America’s Brazil-is-creepy story was just a line to get you in here.”
America laughed. “It worked, didn’t it?”
Abby shook her head, still grinning and wide-eyed from the shock of it all. She leaned into America’s ear and whispered something, and then America whispered back. I was going to have to ask her later what that was about.
Brazil cranked up the volume on the stereo, and everyone screamed. “Come here, Abby!” he said, walking to the kitchen. He picked up the bottle of tequila from the bar, and stood before the shot glasses lined up on the counter. “Happy birthday from the football team, baby girl,” he smiled, pouring each shot glass full of Patrón. “This is the way we do birthdays: You turn nineteen, you have nineteen shots. You can drink ’em or give ’em away, but the more you drink, the more of these you get,” he said, fanning out a handful of twenties.
“Oh my God!” Abby squealed. Her eyes lit up at the site of so much green.
“Drink ’em up, Pidge!” I said.
Abby looked to Brazil, suspicious. “I get a twenty for every shot I drink?”
“That’s right, lightweight. Gauging by the size of you, I’m going to say we’ll get away with losing sixty bucks by the end of the night.”
“Think again, Brazil,” Abby said. She lifted the first shot glass to her mouth and rolled the rim from the side of her bottom lip to the middle of her mouth. Her head tipped back to empty the glass, and then she rolled the rim across the rest of her lip, dropping it into her other hand. It was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen.
“Holy shit!” I said, suddenly turned on.
“This is really a waste, Brazil,” Abby said, wiping the corners of her mouth. “You shoot Cuervo, not Patrón.”
The smug smile on Brazil’s face faded, and he shook his head and shrugged. “Get after it, then. I’ve got the wallets of twelve football players that say you can’t finish ten.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Double or nothing says I can drink fifteen.”
I couldn’t help but smile, and at the same time wondered how in God’s name I was going to behave myself if she kept acting like a fucking Vegas hustler. It was hot as hell.
“Whoa!” Shepley cried. “You’re not allowed to hospitalize yourself on your birthday, Abby!”
“She can do it,” America said, staring at Brazil.
“Forty bucks a shot?” Brazil asked, looking unsure.
“Are you scared?” Abby asked.
“Hell no! I’ll give you twenty a shot, and when you make it to fifteen, I’ll double your total.”
She popped back another shot. “That’s how Kansans do birthdays.”
The music was loud, and I made sure to dance with Abby to every song she’d agree to. The whole apartment was full of smiling college kids, a beer in one hand, and a shot glass in the other. Abby would veer off occasionally to hammer back another shot, and then return with me to our makeshift dance floor in the living room.
The birthday gods must have been pleased with my efforts, because just when Abby was getting a good buzz, a slow song came on. One of my favorites. I kept my lips close to her ear, singing to her, and leaning back to mouth the important parts I wanted her to understand were from me. She probably didn’t catch that part, but that didn’t stop me from trying.
I leaned her back, and her arms fell behind her, her fingers nearly touching the floor. She laughed out loud, and then we were upright, swaying back and forth again. She wrapped her arms around my neck and sighed against my skin. She smelled so good, it was ridiculous.
“You can’t do that when I start getting into the double-digit shots.” She giggled.
“Did I tell you how incredible you look tonight?”
She shook her head and hugged me, laying her head on my shoulder. I squeezed her to me, and buried my face in her neck. When we were like that, quiet, happy, ignoring the fact that we weren’t supposed to be anything more than friends, it was the only place I wanted to be.
The door opened, and Abby’s arms fell away. “Parker!” she squealed, running over to hug him.
He kissed her lips, and I went from feeling like a king to a man on the edge of murder.
Parker lifted her wrist and smiled, mouthing something to her about that stupid bracelet.
“Hey,” America said loudly in my ear. Even though the volume of her voice was louder than normal, no one else could hear.
“Hey,” I said back, still staring at Parker and Abby.
“Keep your cool. Shepley said Parker is just stopping by. He has something to do tomorrow morning, so he can’t stay long.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah, so keep it together. Take a breath. He’ll be gone before you know it.”
Abby pulled Parker to the counter, picked up another shot glass, and killed it, slamming it on the counter upside down like the five times before. Brazil handed her another twenty, and she danced into the living room.
Without hesitation, I grabbed her, and we danced with America and Shepley.
Shepley slapped her on the butt. “One!”
America added a second swat, and then the entire party joined in.
At number nineteen, I rubbed my hands together, making her think I was going to bust her a good one.
“My turn!”
She rubbed her posterior. “Be easy! My ass hurts!”
Unable to contain my amusement, I reared my hand far above my shoulder. Abby closed her eyes, and after a moment, peeked back. I stopped just short of her ass, and gave her a gentle pat.
“Nineteen!” I yelled.
The guests cheered, and America started a drunken rendition of “Happy Birthday to You.” When it got to the part for her name, the entire room sang “Pigeon.” It made me kinda proud.
Another slow song came over the stereo, but this time Parker pulled her to the middle of the room for a dance. He looked like a robot with two left feet, stiff and clumsy.
I tried not the watch, but before the song was over, I caught them slip off to the hallway. My eyes met America’s. She smiled, winked, and shook her head, silently telling me not to do anything stupid.
She was right. Abby wasn’t alone with him for more than five minutes before they were walking to the front door.
The uncomfortable, embarrassed expression on Abby’s face told me that Parker had tried to make those few minutes memorable.
He kissed her cheek, and then Abby shut the door behind him.
“Daddy’s gone!” I yelled, pulling Abby to the center of the living room. “Time to get the party started!”
The room exploded into cheering.
“Hang on! I’m on a schedule!” Abby said, walking into the kitchen. She took another shot.
Seeing how many she had left, I grabbed one from the end and drank it. Abby took another shot, so I did the same.
“Seven more, Abby,” Brazil said, handing her more cash.
The next hour we danced, laughed, and talked about nothing particularly important. Abby’s lips were locked in a smile, and I couldn’t help but stare at her all night.
One in a while, I thought I’d catch her glance at me, and it made me wonder what would happen when we got back to the apartment.
Abby took her time drinking the next few shots, but by her tenth, she was in bad shape. She danced on the couch with America, bouncing and giggling, but then lost her balance.
I caught her before she fell.
“You’ve made your point,” I said. “You’ve drunk more than any girl we’ve ever seen. I’m cutting you off.”
“The hell you are,” she said, slurring her words. “I have six hundred bucks waiting on me at the bottom of that shot glass, and you of all people aren’t going to tell me I can’t do something extreme for cash.”
“If you’re that hard up for money, Pidge . . .”
“I’m not borrowing money from you,” she sneered.
“I was gonna suggest pawning that bracelet.” I smiled.
She smacked me on the arm just as America started the countdown to midnight. When the hands of the clock superimposed on the twelve, we all celebrated.
I had never wanted to kiss a girl so much in my life.
America and Shepley beat me to it, kissing each of her cheeks. I lifted her off the ground, twirling her around.
“Happy birthday, Pigeon,” I said, trying very hard not to press my lips against hers.
Everyone at the party knew what she was up to in the hall with Parker. It would be pretty shitty of me to make her look bad in front of them.
She watched me with her big gray eyes, and I melted inside of them.
“Shots!” she said, stumbling to the kitchen.
Her shout startled me, bringing all the noise and motion around us back into my reality again.
“You look torn up, Abby. I think it’s time to call it a night,” Brazil said when she arrived at the counter.
“I’m not a quitter,” she said. “I wanna see my money.”
I joined her as Brazil placed a twenty under the last two glasses. He yelled at his teammates, “She’s gonna drink ’em! I need fifteen!”
They all groaned and rolled their eyes, pulling out their wallets to stack a pile of twenties behind the last shot glass.
“I would have never believed that I could lose fifty bucks on a fifteen-shot bet with a girl,” Chris complained.
“Believe it, Jenks,” she said, picking up a glass in each hand.
She knocked back each of the glasses, one at a time, but then paused.
“Pigeon?” I asked, taking a step in her direction.
She raised a finger, and Brazil smiled. “She’s going to lose it,” he said.
“No, she won’t.” America shook her head. “Deep breath, Abby.”
She closed her eyes and inhaled, picking up the last shot remaining on the counter.
“Holy God, Abby! You’re going to die of alcohol poisoning!” Shepley cried.
“She’s got this,” America assured him.
She tipped her head back, and let the tequila flow down her throat. The entire party erupted into whistles and yells behind us as Brazil handed her the stack of money.
“Thank you,” she said with pride, tucking the money away in her bra.
I’d never seen anything like it in my life. “You are incredibly sexy right now,” I said in her ear as we walked to the living room.
She wrapped her arms around me, probably letting the tequila settle.
“You sure you’re okay?”
She meant to say “I’m fine,” but the words came out garbled.
“You need to make her go throw up, Trav. Get some of that out of her system.”
“God, Shep. Leave her alone. She’s fine,” America said, annoyed.
Shepley’s brows pulled in. “I’m just trying to keep something really bad from happening.”
“Abby? You okay?” America asked.
Abby managed a smile, looking half asleep.
America looked at Shepley. “Just let it run through her system, she’ll sober up. It’s not her first rodeo.
Calm down.”
“Unbelievable,” Shepley said. “Travis?”
I touched my cheek to Abby’s forehead. “Pidge? You want to play it safe and purge?”
“No,” she said. “I wanna dance.” She wrapped her arms around me tighter.
I looked at Shepley and shrugged. “As long as she’s up and moving . . .”
Unhappy, Shepley barreled through the crowd on the makeshift dance floor until he was out of sight.
America clicked her tongue and rolled her eyes, and then followed after him.
Abby pressed her body against mine. Even though the song was fast, we were slow dancing in the middle of the room, surrounded by people bouncing around and waving their arms. Blue, purple, and green lights danced with us, on the floor and along the walls. The blue lights reflected on Abby’s face, and I had to really concentrate through the liquor not to kiss her.
When the party began to wind down a few hours later, Abby and I were still on the dance floor. She had sobered up a bit after I fed her some crackers and cheese, and tried to dance with America to some stupid pop song, but other than that, Abby was in my arms, her wrists locked behind my neck.
The bulk of the party had either left or passed out somewhere in the apartment, and Shepley and
America’s bickering had gradually gotten worse.
“If you’re riding with me, I’m leaving,” Shepley said, tearing toward the door.
“I’m not ready to leave,” Abby mumbled, her eyes half closed.
“I think this night is spent. Let’s go home.” When I took a step toward the door, Abby didn’t move. She was staring at the floor, looking a bit green.
“You’re going to throw up, aren’t you?”
She looked up at me, her eyes half closed. “It’s about that time.”
She weaved back and forth a few times before I scooped her up in my arms.
“You, Travis Maddox, are kinda sexy when you’re not being a whore,” she said, a ridiculous, drunken grin twisting her mouth in different directions.
“Uh . . . thanks,” I said, readjusting her so I had a better grip.
Abby touched her palm to my cheek. “You know what, Mr. Maddox?”
“What, baby?”
Her expression turned serious. “In another life, I could love you.”
I watched her for a moment, staring into her glassed-over eyes. She was drunk, but just for a moment it didn’t seem wrong to pretend that she meant it.
“I might love you in this one.”
She tilted her head, and pressed her lips against the corner of my mouth. She’d meant to kiss me, but missed. She pulled back, and then let her head fall against my shoulder.
I looked around, and everyone still conscious was frozen, staring in shock at what they’d just witnessed.
Without a word, I carried her out of the apartment to the Charger, where America stood, her arms crossed.
Shepley gestured to Abby. “Look at her! She’s your friend, and you let her do something insanely dangerous! You encouraged it!”
America pointed at herself. “I know her, Shep! I’ve seen her do way more than that for money!”
I shot her a glance.
“Shots. I’ve seen her do more shots for money,” she qualified. “You know what I mean.”
“Listen to yourself!” Shepley yelled. “You followed Abby all the way from Kansas to keep her out of trouble. Look at her! She has a dangerous level of alcohol in her system, and she is unconscious! That isn’t behavior you should be okay with!”
America’s eyes narrowed. “Oh! Thanks for the public service announcement about what not to do in college, Mr. Eighteen-year-old-frat-boy-with-eleventy-billion-‘serious’-girlfriends-under-his-belt!” She used her fingers to mark invisible quotations when she said serious.
Shepley’s mouth popped open, unamused. “Get in the fucking car. You’re a mean drunk.”
America laughed. “You haven’t seen me mean, mama’s boy!”
“I told you we’re close!”
“Yeah, so are me and my asshole! Doesn’t mean I’m going to call it twice a day!”
“You’re a bitch!”
All color left America’s face. “Take. Me. Home.”
“I’d love to, if you’d get in the fucking car!” Shepley screamed the last bit. His face turned red, and veins were popping out on his neck.
America opened the door and climbed into the back, leaving the door open. She helped me slide Abby in beside her, and then I fell into the passenger seat.
The ride home was short and completely silent. When Shepley pulled into his parking spot and threw the shifter in Park, I scrambled out of the car and pulled the seat forward.
Abby’s head was on America’s shoulder, her hair covering her face. I reached in and pulled Abby out, throwing her over my shoulder. America crawled out quickly after, and she walked straight to her car, pulling her keys from her purse.
“Mare,” Shepley said, regret already obvious from the break of his voice.
America sat in the driver’s seat, slammed the door in Shepley’s face, and then backed away.
Abby was ass up, her arms dangling behind me.
“She’s gotta come back for Abby, right?” Shepley asked, his face desperate.
Abby moaned, and then her body lurched. The awful groan/growl that always accompanied vomit preceded a splashing sound. The back of my legs felt wet.
“Tell me she didn’t,” I said, frozen.
Shepley bent back for a second, and then righted himself. “She did.”
I jogged up the stairs two at a time, and rushed Shepley as he tried to find the apartment key. He opened it, and I raced into the bathroom.
Abby leaned over the toilet, emptying the contents of her stomach liters at a time. Her hair was already wet with puke from the incident outside, but I grabbed one of those round, black, stretchy things off the sink and pulled her long hair back into a ponytail. The damp pieces clung together in thick clumps, but I pulled it all back with my hands, anyway, and secured it with the black hair holder thingy. I’d seen enough girls twist it and pull their hair back through in class, it didn’t take long for me to figure it out.
Abby’s body lurched again. I wet a washrag from the hall closet, and then sat back down beside her, holding it against her forehead. She leaned against the tub and groaned.
I gently wiped her face with the wet rag, and then tried to sit still when she lay her head on my shoulder.
“You gonna make it?” I asked.
She frowned, and then gagged, keeping her lips together just long enough to position her head over the toilet. She heaved again, and more liquid splashed into it.
Abby was so small, and the amount she was expelling didn’t seem normal. Worry crept into my mind.
I scrambled from the bathroom and returned with two towels, an extra sheet, three blankets, and four pillows in my arms. Abby moaned over the toilet bowl, her body trembling. I fashioned the linens against the tub in a pallet and waited, knowing we would more than likely end up spending the night in that little corner of the bathroom.
Shepley stood in the doorway. “Should I . . . call someone?”
“Not yet. I’m going to keep an eye on her.”
“I’m fine,” Abby said. “This is me not getting alcohol poisoning.”
Shepley frowned. “No, this is stupid. That’s what this is.”
“Hey, you got the uh . . . her uh . . .”
“Present?” he said with one eyebrow up.
“Yeah.”
“I got it,” he said, clearly unhappy.
“Thanks, man.”
Abby fell back against the tub once more, and I promptly wiped her face. Shepley wet a fresh rag and tossed it to me.
“Thanks.”
“Yell if you need me,” Shepley said. “I’m going to lie awake in bed, trying to think of a way to get
Mare to forgive me.”
I relaxed against the tub as best I could, and pulled Abby against me. She sighed, letting her body melt into mine. Even with her covered in vomit, close to her was the only place I wanted to be. Her words at the party replayed in my mind.
In another life, I could love you.
Abby was lying weak and sick in my arms, depending on me to take care of her. In that moment I recognized that my feelings for her were a lot stronger than I thought. Sometime between the moment we met, and holding her on that bathroom floor, I had fallen in love with her.
Abby sighed, and then rested her head in my lap. I made sure she was completely covered with blankets before I let myself nod off.
“Trav?” she whispered.
“Yeah?”
She didn’t answer. Her breathing evened out, and her head fell heavily against my legs. The cold porcelain against my back and the unforgiving tile under my ass were brutal, but I didn’t dare move. She was comfortable, and she would stay that way. Twenty minutes into watching her breathe, the parts of me that hurt started to numb, and my eyes closed.